Lover I Don't Have To Love
by 0Atwood0
Summary: Swinging the door open noncommittally, she prays that he’ll buy what she’s selling. Because she’s tired, so very tired of being lonely.


A/N: So I posted this up on the message boards way back in April, but I figurenow's as good a time as any to get this up here.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show. If I did, a certain someone wouldn't be dead right now, and someone else would have plummeted to his death a lot sooner, among other things.

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He was right. She knows that he's right. Even though she doesn't want to admit it. Even though she wishes that it wasn't true. Marissa knows that he's right. She slowly climbs the porch steps and walks past him without a glance. Swinging the door open noncommittally, she prays that he'll buy what she's selling. Because she's tired, so very tired of being lonely.

She pauses awkwardly in the makeshift living room, transferring her weight form one foot to the other. A prisoner in her own house. If you could really call the thirty by fifteen tin can she's living in a house. But the trepidation that she's feeling melts away when she hears the door slam and realizes that he's accepted her offer.

She turns to face him, hands on her hips, and the first thing she notices are his eyes. How he squints at her with this smug smile on his face, like he knew what was going to happen all along. His hazy blue eyes lazily roam her body and she's suddenly yearning for them to be filled with the love she's so familiar with. The love she knows she's taken for granted.

But as he slinks towards her, she's met with something else. And it can't even begin to fill the emptiness inside of her, but at least she can feel something. And right now, that's as close to a fucking miracle as she's going to get.

She's not sure who crashes into whom, but she's definitely not complaining as his fingertips make his way across the small of her back and inch up under the hem of her shirt. She decides that he tastes like stale cigarettes and whiskey, and she's not sure why, but it's oddly comforting.

Suddenly they're both topless and he's slamming her into walls. Pressing his body closer to hers. Trying to soak in as much of her as he can. And as she runs her hands over his biceps and up his back, she briefly considers that he could be Ryan. The new Ryan. Just like Ryan was the new Luke.

Except this Ryan is much more reckless. Much more of an asshole. Much more of what she absolutely does not need. He kisses down her collarbone. Down her chest. All across her stomach, as he slowly begins to undo the button on her jeans. And her breath hitches as she runs her fingers through his hair. Pressing him closer into her. Because she's dying for some contact. Dying to know that she's still alive.

She remembers the last time something like this happened.

Under slightly better conditions, she supposes. But nonetheless, she hasn't forgotten the amount of effort Ryan had put into their tryst at the beach. The amount of effort he put into their relationship. Even if he was reserved. And closed off. And had enough issues to hold him and everybody in the Cohen household over until the next millennia.

She thinks it's ironic. How all she wanted was to be enough for Ryan, and at the same time he was dying to be enough for her. She assumes its fitting though. Their relationship had always worked in fucked up ways.

Speaking of fitting, she and Volchok are definitely not fitting on this poor excuse of a couch. He doesn't seem to care very much though as he presses her between the pillows and the armrest. He hungrily kisses her, moving down towards her neck, his hands wandering all across her body.

Tears prick the corners of her eyes as he thrusts into her hard. He hadn't asked if she was sure as he entered her. She has gotten so used to Ryan's soft murmurs that she's somewhat taken by surprise as it happens. She knows that she shouldn't expect such treatment from him. She doesn't deserve it. But it doesn't mean that she didn't want to hear it anyway.

She rakes her nails across his back as he thrusts harder, grabbing the edge of the couch for support. She squeezes her eyes shut, letting the sense of euphoria wash over her, for the short amount of time she can enjoy it.

She's so sure she's made a mistake. And she's certain that she's only a tiny bit remorseful. As certain as she can be. She feels him roll off her and get up off the couch. Snapping her eyes open, she watches as he redresses himself, and she's suddenly feeling very vulnerable right now.

Pulling the blanket draped over the back of the couch snugly around her body, she watches him buckle his belt and slide his shirt over his head. He turns to face her, that smug smile plastered on his face again, and gives her a small wink before trudging out the trailer door.

Well that's just fan-fucking-tastic.

Her stomach twists and she slowly lifts herself up off of the couch, making her way towards her room. Salvation's calling her from the little metal flask inside of her bag. In one swift motion, she bends down and grabs the empty condom wrapper off of the floor and tosses it in the trash.

"_You write such pretty words,  
__ but life's no storybook"_

_ Bright Eyes _

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_Fin._


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